Fireflies
by LadyLazarus33
Summary: Sleeping was difficult enough, but to have a million lights flashing underneath every time she closed her eyes was truly the breaking point. 7,863 fireflies dropping dead at her feet and in the space of four years- well, 625,000 just seemed another group of numbers she had to bear. Civil War!/Fem!America FACE Family.


**I DO NOT OWN HETALIA:AXIS POWERS**

The three men sat nervously around the living room of their spacious home. Arthur had finally managed to break Matthew away from his sister' side, a place he had stayed for the past four hours. The nation wrung his hand together, fingers pinching the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger in growing agitation for the nearly unconscious girl upstairs. Both of his parents watched him as he paced around the room.

"Is there anythi-"he began. France cut him off.

"Not unless you want to storm the White House. We need to let her fight this on her own," he sighed, running a hand down his face. The glare his son gave him was enough to make the normally calm nation flinch a bit. He had to fight the urge to argue further- the lack of sleep was getting to all of them.

"You want her to die?" Matthew spat.

"She is _not_ going to die." Arthur interjected, stepping forward in hopes of calming his son. He could barely see the strings that were holding him together, much less seem them actually break. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Look, you need to-"

"I swear to God if you tell me to calm down _one more time_." Canada shrugged off his father's hand almost violently from his shoulder, turning to face him. "You seem to be more preoccupied with keeping the peace in this goddamn house than saving your own daughter!" Matthew snapped these words in his father's shocked face, before the anger set in on England's part.

"You have the _audacity_ to think that we want her to be like this-"he gestured back to France, who expression was unreadable, but both of them could tell he was surveying the situation in front of him. "That _I_ want her to be like this- as her father!"

Matthew laughed humorlessly. "You know, that's funny because I remember running after her out that door because you were doing a pretty shit job of being a father." The words are growled in England's face and he opens his mouth to retort, green eyes blazing.

"Amelia?"

The girl is standing by the banister, almost all the way downstairs before Francis moves towards her, light touching her arm to which she flinched. Arthur felt his gut clench in his stomach as his eyes racked over his daughter's form. Her own clothes hung off of her body, hair limp and dull and the bruises underneath her eyes stuck out against her pale skin. The silence hung in the air, the only sound the occasional ticking of the grandfather clock at the end of the living room or barking of a dog faraway in the night. Arthur cleared his throat before he spoke.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing up?"

It takes a full thirty seconds for her to respond, or at least acknowledge her father's words before her head turned and eyes flickered to try and focus on him.

"They've come to gloat. Gather around my corpse and wait to feast on me." She muttered these words, thin fingers playing with the fabric of the thin nightgown she wore.

"You're not dead, Amelia." Arthur stated softly, before her eyes, so clouded and unclear flickered around the room as if looking for something.

"Aren't I?" she spat, fingers pinching the web of skin between her thumb and forefingers before Francis grasped her hand from her actions. "Broken heart. You want to die, but just keep on living for the ones you're going to lose." A shudder ran through her, and Matthew could feel the ache of a headache pounding through their link. From what she was allowing him to see, Gettysburg was just getting worse.

Her mutterings weren't making any sense at this point. She was delirious with the after effects of the fever that still rocked her frame from a few hours previous. France could feel her skin, warm even through the thin nightgown.

"Everything's going to be fine," Arthur soothed, stepping forward.

_"__Don't lie to me!" _she nearly screamed. "Hate me as much as they do, but please… do not presume because I am weak, you can treat me like a stupid child." She smiled a watery smile, chest hurting from the sobs she was trying to keep controlled. "But it's okay, Daddy." The use of the endearment made both her parents flinch.

_You can shoot us._

* * *

><p><strong>*goes and cries over history book*<strong>

**Brownie points for anyone who can guess the meaning of the last line! God, I'm such a nerd. Don't know how I felt about this as a stand alone, but if anyone has ideas for a continuation, post in comments! **

**READ AND REVIEW!**

**ALSO, JOYEUX NOËL! (Sorry, guys. I'm a sucker for anything in French.) :)**


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